


i was following the i

by pwrfckpwrcm



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: George is Bisexual, M/M, Surveillance, Suspense, not a complete AU, only Matty is in a band
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 00:23:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7867762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pwrfckpwrcm/pseuds/pwrfckpwrcm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>inspired by this post https://www.instagram.com/p/wkQtiGr0L1/ from george's insta</p></blockquote>





	i was following the i

George was looking forward to the weekend; he had been housebound unpacking and wanted to get a feel for his new city. He’d been to Los Angeles before but only for a night or so and always with people who knew the area better. Now that it was his new home, he had to find his place in it. He’d roam, get a little lost even, finding some good take-away, wine and a used bookstore to rebuild his library, and try stay away from anything, or anyone, that lent itself to trouble. He’d been a little notorious in his last city, too familiar a face, and he was going to take care to not fall down that path again. Besides, he wasn’t sure how busy his new job would keep him. Better to set a low key tone at the start then adjust accordingly if needed.

His employer owned the building in which he would be working and living (rent included in his salary). The company had built and maintained high-tech luxury condos in major cities along the east coast but the Los Angeles compound was fairly new. George had been transferred from the New York office and would be filling two roles for a while. His primary duties were in the IT department, of which he already knew the specifics but was he was clueless about the administrative role.

After two weeks shadowing the building admin he was replacing, he had little to worry about other than getting the required signatures and documentation, and avoiding double-booking himself. The week’s workload was usually set no later than Tuesday and everything was scheduled by email/phone. Mondays were for responding to inquiries, contacting waitlisted tenants, scheduling unit tours and appointments; Tuesdays through Thursdays were in-office hours for processing applications, rent, fees, requests, etc. and conducting unit tours; and Fridays were for arriving or departing tenants to sign their respective documents.

His IT duties involved making sure the building’s security system was synced, that card and eye scanners didn’t lock up and that the CCTV was functioning. He maintained a database of access to the building and uploaded the footage of all public areas weekly to headquarters. He checked the feed for irregularities or issues and performed backups and system updates, but otherwise, it was a stand-alone operation and all of which he could do at night. He set up an alternate feed of all cameras and routed them into the office in his loft for emergencies. Between that and having his office work calendar and phone forwarded to his cell, he was mainly a free agent.

/ /

A little over a month later, he found and set his pace. There’d be lulls, the last guy warned, sometimes nothing needed doing, and it couldn’t be helped; he was stuck in one now. He used the downtime to meander about the city, finding his spots and taking in the local talent as it were. George was not exactly lonely but he missed having someone in his life. L.A. offered an embarrassment of riches as far as good looks and warm fit bodies went; everyone followed the spoken expectation to maintain (or acquire) the standard. It was finding something deeper that might lead to lasting where he failed repeatedly.

He quickly tired of sitting across from aspiring whatevers with hunger in their eyes waiting for “the call.” He tried his best to steer clear of them after a while but sometimes they were just too enticing and he got suckered in. People assumed he was also in that line of work, maybe not as an up-and-comer (at 31, he was too “old”) but as a scout or someone with a connection. He wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the business, having modeled himself when he was 17. It was short-lived as he proved incompatible with the weird photoshoots and hoop jumping for little reward. The ordeal turned him off and sent him to school. Still, he had the look, the build and height, a piercing gaze and radiated an innate cool. People were surprised to find out what his real job was but the lines that popped near his eyes when he laughed, the slight gray at his temple and peppered in his stubble when let it grow out coupled his complete absence of Hollywood-focused fervor settled it for most.

Still, occasionally, he had to remind his dates that he was not in the industry and readied himself as all the oxygen left the room as their faces fell. After a while, they all usually had a “tell,” men would scratch at their necks while huffily waving the waiter over for another round; women would take out a compact, pretending to check their face but really looking for the exit in the mirror. A few hours with him meant they didn't have to think about their last audition or next month’s rent so they’d still fuck, usually at their places and quietly so as to not bother the roommates. A good time was had by all but ironically enough, George never got a call back. It ultimately amounted to a waste of time.

He was leaving one such date when he got an email, a new tenant from the waiting list confirmed an appointment to sign their lease the next day. The glare from the sun on his phone made it hard to see the picture attached but it looked like someone he gave a tour to early on in his training; possibly the squirrely one who held most of his body’s weight in his hair. He synced the appointment to his calendar and headed back to the office to set aside the packet and unit keys.

/ /

Once the prospective tenant was in his office, he remembered him vividly. The man in question, now known to be Matthew (but preferred  _Matty_ ) looked unlike anyone he had seen in L.A. in recent months. He was shorter than him, a little fidgety and curled in on himself with a complexion that paled from either staying indoors by choice or his last city was permanently overcast. Altogether, he was unassuming on first glance but the hair did not disappoint. Matthew seemed all too aware of the allure of his hair as he flipped or twirled it in a calculatedly absent-minded manner.

However, over the course of their session, George saw a different kind of hunger in his eyes, more predatory and their color reminded him of teakwood. An appetite seeking to devour anything in his line to sight then twist it to use to his personal advantage but not outwardly malicious. George didn’t see that any trace of that seemingly standard issue yearning for validation from outside forces he grew to recognize and avoid. Matthew had to be in control starting with himself which spread out to other aspects of his life. It made sense that he was an artist, involving something technical or electrical, and occasional musician that allowed him the freedom to do so.

The on-boarding took twice as long because Matthew asked numerous questions unrelated to his tenancy and George had to repeat himself a few times. He also kept slipping up and calling  _Matty_  Matthew, he couldn’t help it, he liked how the “-thew” made his lips purse. It took some effort but he got Matthew to focus long enough to sign everything and they were walking through the building. George was showing him the amenities, the studio, gym, recreation area, emergency exits and procedures, and how to work the elevators and doors with his electronic key. Matthew kept looking up in corners and down at the floor quizzically then staring at George which worried him that he’d be getting lots of late night calls to let the man in.

He ended the walkthrough by giving Matthew a map of the building and his business card. Matthew had to call him in a few days to arrange for his furniture delivery using the service entrance and elevator. Secretly, he hoped he would call him just because; he was a little drawn to the restless man. He had to stop himself from wondering if there was any official policy preventing staff from fraternizing with residents.

Weeks went by, and other than the required call about the movers, George hadn’t had contact with Matthew. It’s just as well, George reasoned, he wasn’t sure what they would even talk about. He mostly put the man out of his thoughts except he’d come roaring back when he caught glimpses of him on the CCTV during uploads. After a few sightings, he noticed Matthew kept odd hours, not like a set graveyard shift but complete random. Seven am to three pm, midnight to four am, then back out again at six, etc. George questioned it at first but let it go after reasoning artists are not confined to banker’s hours. Additionally, Matthew had a knack for keeping his face off the screen. George always knew it was him though, either by his lithe movements or the thicket of curls jutting out of his black hoodie. Every sighting electrified him in a way he couldn’t articulate just yet.

/ / 

The building held a quarterly resident’s meeting, attendance not mandatory but highly encouraged. The company liked to check in, get a read on their comfort level, suggestions for improvements and so on and it gave everyone in the building a chance to mingle. He went to one shortly after moving in and ended up at an excellent restaurant that one of the residents worked in. George was finishing up, booking the catering for his first meeting on his own in the upcoming weekend and sent the invites out before leaving the office. Professionally, he hoped there would be a good turnout; personally, he wanted Matthew to show up. He tasked himself to find something to talk to him about in case he did. He would to go to his new favorite bookstore to look up what…what did he do again? Neon lights? Art and music of some kind...he’d pick something while in the stacks. At least he wouldn’t be faking not knowing anything if he got Matthew rambling about the subject.

He was locking up the office and heading towards the elevators when he saw that tell-tale puff sticking out of a black hoodie. He called out “Matthew?” but the man just kept walking. George struggled to get himself situated with his keys, phone and bag in his hands to catch up and just barely missed the doors closing.  _How did he get past me_ , George thought, I only had my back turned a second, not even. He noted the time, a quarter past seven, and planned his office exit around that for the next few days.

He made it up to his loft, discarded his phone and bag on the table and looked in the fridge for something to eat; half-finished when an alert beeped. When he picked up the phone, his whole body relaxed and a smiled tugged at his mouth. It was an email from Matthew, the first to confirm attending the meeting. He started typing a generic reply since it was sent to the work email, “Sounds good, looking forward to it!” when his phone screen blanked with an incoming call from an unknown number. He swiped to answer, hesitantly saying hello.

“George? Is this George from the main office?” Matthew asks. George’s tongue is suddenly a knot in his mouth, struggling to get out an “Uh hi, yes.” “It’s Matty, I just wanted to make sure you got my email. I’ve had it for ages but had trouble setting it up on my new phone.” George had forgotten in the time that passed since he moved in that Matthew was from England like him, but the pitch was lighter and it had a lilt that gave his accent a melody. It stunned him. “Uh...yeah, I got it, was just about to reply.”

“Good, good,” Matthew says and George is leaning into his phone, smiling at the way Matthew pronounced the word, “Do you have a pen?” George walked to his desk, “yes, what am I writing?” “My “real” email, I wanted to ask you something but didn’t want to send it to the building.” George scribbles it down then repeats it back making sure he has it right. “Good,”  _that word_  in  _that tone_ , it did something to George, “email me sometime. ‘Night!” and the phone clicked off.

“Well damn, I thought  _he_  wanted to ask  _me_ ,” George said to his empty loft. He looked at his notepad, the email was not a boring firstlastname@whatever.com like the one he used to RSVP the meeting but a reference, Truman...something.  _How quickly should I send this? And what should I send? I should have given him mine, damn it_ , George debated with himself. He didn’t want to send it right this second that was for sure, so he cleaned up the kitchen, showered and settled into his home office. He sat down in front of the feed to coordinate the upload and saw Matthew in the lobby, pacing and looking between his phone and the parking lot. He sent Matthew “This is my personal, what’s up?” message, unimaginative but the best he could do without knowing the context. He looked up again at the lobby camera, headlights flooding it as a car pulled up to the sidewalk. Matthew swiped at his phone, staring for a moment then put it in his back pocket. He waved to the driver in the car and was almost at door when he turned his head to his left and looked up, making direct eye contact with the camera and smirked.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by this post https://www.instagram.com/p/wkQtiGr0L1/ from george's insta


End file.
